


My Girl, My Girl

by StarMaamMke



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Idiots in Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 09:12:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13478298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarMaamMke/pseuds/StarMaamMke
Summary: Jim completely misreads a situation.





	My Girl, My Girl

Lonnie made her laugh, and not just the polite, hollowed chuckle (a staccato exhale, really) that she used to give him when she was still under the delusion that their marriage could work if she was just better somehow, but an honest-to-goodness, full-throated barked punctuated at the end with a snort that wrinkled her nose and garnered bewildered looks from the other patrons. 

“Sorry,” Joyce murmured sheepishly, rolling her eyes and sipping her coffee as her eyes twinkled in the direction of her ex-husband. 

“It’s alright, I had a good laugh over it too, once my head stopped pounding.”

About a week back, Lonnie had called out of the blue. Joyce knew something was up when he kept eerily quiet the entire time she berated - a tongue lashing that started from the moment he announced who he was, and ended with him giving out a meek, and utterly sincere apology. He had been in Mexico, living off of the grid, things had gotten weird until they hadn’t and by some miracle, a good job and a windfall came at the exact same time.

Unfortunately, so had cancer. 

The good fortune, great fortune, shitty luck combination (absolutely and utterly dismal prognosis; but he had decent doctors) had brought the hammer of perspective down hard on his head. Lonnie wasn’t back in Hawkins to beg for Joyce to take him into her loving arms once more, he knew the ship had sailed and that she was more than happy with ‘That lucky rat-bastard, Hopper’, but he did want to make things somewhat right. 

Jonathan had gotten into NYU, to the shock of virtually no one, but Joyce didn’t want him to have to work through college. She had scrapped a little money together, maybe enough for a good three or four semesters of absolute academic focus with a little pin money here and there, courtesy of Hopper, but it wasn’t a fortune. Lonnie, mysteriously nouveau riche, but desperately short on time, figured that a full-ride at NYU plus a generous savings fund for Will would be a small start to discharging his debt to his long-abandoned family. 

Joyce, of course, fought this, finding the whole thing to be utterly manipulative, until Lonnie gave her the two conditions:

1\. The boys were not to be told that he was sick.

2\. The boys were not to be told who had given Joyce the funds. 

For the latter, he supposed they was no harm in telling them once he was dead, there were worst things in this world than two sons having some kernel to grasp onto in regards to remembering their father fondly. Joyce still waffled, but agreed to lunch to discuss it, and offer her proof that this wasn’t just some sort of ploy.

Proof was given, and what should’ve been a somewhat grave lunch, turned into something almost pleasant. They joked and reminisced, and after a while, Joyce was able to sit in front of him and eat without her stomach twisting unpleasantly.

“Hey Chief!” 

Joyce gave a violent start and she turned towards the front entrance of the diner at Marla Fenway’s bright greeting. She and Jim made instant eye contact and she blanched at the unfathomable expression on his face; his lips pressed into a thin line, his bearing rigid and his hands balled into angry fists. His eyes were obscured by his aviator shades, but she could tell by the knit in his heavy brow that he was glaring. Before she even had time to greet him, he stormed out.

“Uh-oh…” Lonnie uttered, prompting a scowl from Joyce.

“Stay. Here.” She ordered before rushing out the front door. Jim was already sitting in his Blazer, hands gripping the steering wheel as he stared out into the distance. She could hear his radio blaring loud enough the send vibrations underfoot. Joyce sighed, screwed up her courage, walked to the passenger side door, opened it, and settled in.

My girl, my girl, don’t lie to me…

“Did you just have this tape lying around for a dramatic moment like this?” Joyce inquired, turning the dial to lessen the impact of Leadbelly’s lyrical accusation. 

“You two were awfully cozy.”

Joyce exhaled, a long and shaky sound, and turned her face towards Jim. He was stoic and rigid as a statue. 

“He’s paying Jonathan’s tuition, and setting up a college fund for Will.”

Jim nodded. “Yeah, I’d ditch me for that kind of temptation too.”

Anger sparked in Joyce’s chest, spreading over her body like wildfire. “Excuse me?” 

He shrugged. “I don’t blame you.”

Without thinking, Joyce slapped his upper arm. “Are you fucking kidding me? That’s not what that was at all! All we were talking about was transferring funds and the fact that he didn’t want the boys to know, and that he’s dying.” When he didn’t look over at her, or say anything, she huffed and turned to open the door. “You’re fucking ridiculous, Jim Hop–”

She moaned as he cut her off by darting forward, grabbing her waist, cupping her cheek and kissing her hard and dangerous. She quickly acquiesced to being pulled beneath him on the bench seat, one leg wrapping around his waist as he plundered her mouth without mercy. Their teeth scrapped, and her lower lip was nipped hard enough for her to taste a damp, metallic tang. This wasn’t one of their sweet, slow kisses full of longing and love - no, this was purely territorial, a concept that usually made Joyce snort with derision, but in the front seat of the truck, clinging to his hot, trembling frame like a life-line, she felt like she might combust. 

He pulled away, resting his forehead against hers as they panted. 

“I’m spending the rest of my lunch break at home. Get there soon,” he ordered, giving the sore spot on her bottom lip a little lick and pulling himself into a sitting position. 

Joyce’s legs almost buckled when she left the truck and her feet touched the pavement. 


End file.
